


what haven't we lost

by silverfoxflower



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amnesia, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 12:16:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2269371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverfoxflower/pseuds/silverfoxflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumlow manipulates a mentally and emotionally vulnerable Winter Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what haven't we lost

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for: emotional manipulation, reference to past (possible) sexual and physical abuse

"You know me," the man said, smiling and unafraid as he raised his hands high in the air. He had a thick burn scar from the edge of his jaw down to his neck. Bucky stared at it, swallowing. 

"That doesn’t mean anything." He said, keeping his gun pointed at the man’s chest. "The men who tried to kill me yesterday looked like they knew me too." 

"And I’m sure you dispatched them with beautiful precision." The man smiled enigmatically. "Brock. I’m Brock. I’m on your side. You can trust me. Remember? I always had your back." 

Bucky- _did_ remember. His mind reacted to the familiar, sketched in this man’s - Brock’s - face as a soldier-in-arms. Their guns had always been pointed in the same direction. 

"Atta boy," Brock said as Bucky slowly lowered his weapon, and Bucky flinched at the jolt of happiness at his approval.

—

"This is where you’re staying?" Brock said, his voice dry and critical. "It’s a dump." 

"It’s safe." Bucky said, walking to the far side, where the wall was stacked with crates. Pushing them aside revealed cardboard plates taped over the wall. Bucky peeled them back and reached into the hollowed-out hole for some more ammo. 

When he turned around, Brock was staring at his memory wall. It was covered with newspaper clippings and notes written on torn-off pieces of paper. In the middle was a map of New England, sites where Bucky visited and remembered labeled with green dots. Sites where he’d had to shoot his way out labeled with red ‘x’s. There was only three of those so far. One of them was the underground medical facility he'd had heart-pounding nightmares about for _weeks_ before he managed to fight through his nauseous terror and track it down. In the end it had given him little. During the shoot-out, a self-detonation alarm had been triggered and all the information in the facility was lost. 

"I took you to a secure location, as per your orders," Bucky said, watching Brock sit heavily on his squeaky metal cot. "You said you’d tell me what you knew." 

Brock smiled enigmatically and patted the space beside him. When Bucky didn’t walk over to join him, he shrugged. 

"You were an agent of an organization called Hydra." 

"Nazi rogue science division." Bucky said, repeating the voice-over in the Smithsonian. 

"Yeah, well," Brock shrugged. "The powers in charge have always used propaganda to turn the people against the real truth. We’re actually the good guys, you know." 

"I was … an Agent." Bucky said slowly, testing the words on his tongue. They sounded foreign, the syllables strangely aligned. 

"The best.” Brock said, leaning back against the bed. “Two dozen-plus kill missions and not a single miss. You were a legend-“ 

"Don’t lie to me." Bucky said. Low. Dangerous. His hand dropped to his gun and Brock’s smile slipped from his face. "I know what the museum said about me. I fought _against_ you people. I fought with … Steve.” The man on the bridge. When Bucky thought of his face his heart throbbed like an open wound. 

"Well the Smithsonian certainly wasn’t going to have an exhibit on how you _betrayed_ Captain America.” 

_"I would never."_ Bucky hissed, with more assurance than he had evidence to be. 

"Please. Don’t be dense." Brock said, his voice dripping with condescension. "You’re 95 years old and you look 25. You have a metal arm that can punch through five inches of steel. You think they just _give_ those away?" 

"I don’t-" Bucky mumbled, his eyes flickering from the ground. To his hand. To Brock’s face. None of what he knew contradicted what Brock was saying. The last memory he had of the man on the bridge was hitting him and _hitting him_ when he couldn’t even fight back. 

There was a part of him that had been expecting this all along. Bucky wasn’t a hero. Couldn’t have been. He knew only too intimately what he was capable of.

"Hey. _Hey._ " Brock said, standing from the bed. He slung a hand across Bucky’s shoulders, then grabbed a hold of his nape and squeezed gently. 

Bucky went. Limp. His hand flopped off of his gun to drag at his side. 

"No need to beat yourself up over it." Brock said lightly. "We’ve all been there." 

—

"Aren’t you going to ask what I was to you?" 

"What were you?" Bucky asked quietly, more out of an obligation to than an actual desire to know. 

"I was your superior officer," Brock said, "And other things." He pressed his thumb against Bucky’s bottom lip and that, too, felt. Familiar. "Remember," he said, "I’m the only one you can trust now. We have to have each other’s backs, right?" 

Bucky narrowed his eyes. But he nodded. 

—

They had to move to a new safehouse the next day because managed to track them down. Bucky took the weapons. The food he could carry. He folded up his memory wall as fast as possible and stuffed it into his backpack. 

"Come on, you don’t need that," Brock said, sliding clips into his own holster. "You got me now." 

Bucky didn’t answer, pressing himself flat against the wall to glance out the window. Steve and the man with the wings - Sam - were climbing over the fence around the warehouse district. “Does he know?” Bucky asked. 

"Know what?" Brock asked. "That you’d been a double agent from day one?" 

Bucky kept watching. The streetlight’s glow slid across the blonde of Steve’s hair. He looked unhurt. Healthy. Something in Bucky's stomach eased at that observation. When Steve glanced up, Bucky immediately sank deeper into the shadows. 

"You wanna stick around and tell him?" Brock asked dryly. "Have a tearful reunion?" 

Bucky swallowed and stepped from the wall. “Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> [more fics](http://actualmenacebuckybarnes.tumblr.com/tagged/myfic) can be found on [my tumblr](http://actualmenacebuckybarnes.tumblr.com)!


End file.
